The Dance
by L.A. Doyle
Summary: If you could feel your CO’s breath on your cheek and his heart pounding close to yours, you were unquestionably, without a doubt, too close.


Disclaimer: I don't own it.

The Dance

Jack started a pot of decaf coffee. Team night was winding down, but the effects of the alcohol weren't. This would help Daniel. Jack just wouldn't mention it was caffeine free, and hopefully Daniel would be too drunk to notice. He shook his head. The man had only drunk two beers!

He returned to the living room to find Daniel passed out in his chair. "Too late, sir," Sam informed him, fiddling with a bottle cap. Teal'c had already gone to the guest room to kel-no-reem. While the Jaffa didn't drink, Sam and Jack had both had a little much. Neither ever drank enough to be sick, but sometimes enough to make them tipsy.

"Oh, well. More for us," Jack shrugged. He peered into his cabinet at his small, but growing DVD collection. "Hey! I forgot. I got the newest _Simpsons_ DVD set before our last mission. Haven't watched it yet."

"Sir," Sam replied in a tone that clearly showed her displeasure.

"But Carter, it's hilarious!"

"They're cartoons," she said, grabbing the box from his hands, studying its contents. "It's…bizarre."

"Have you ever even watched an episode?" Jack wondered, eyeing his 2IC. She'd better not make any sudden moves with his precious DVDs….

"Yes, sir, I have. And to be honest, it was...uh…wacky." Obviously the beer had impaired her ability to use words that could confuse him.

"What's wrong with wacky?" he asked, flashing her his boyish smile.

"I don't know how I feel about wacky…" she trailed off, slipping the DVD case behind her back, against the cushion of the chair.

"_What_ do you think you're doing?"

"I'm thinking," Sam replied innocently.

"I don't think so. And I think you'd better relinquish my _Simpsons _now."

"Relinquish? Wow." A grin spread across her face. Apparently too much beer made her, ah, playful.

"It's an order, Carter. I _order_ you to give me back my _Simpsons_."

"No."

"_No_?"

"What are you going to do? Court-martial me?" Sam smiled brightly at her CO, who was kneeling next to her chair. Jack glared at her; he knew she knew she could get away with it.

"Look, Carter, I'd hate for there to be a tragic accident involving blue jello…" he told her forebodingly, raising an eyebrow.

"Would that be the same incident in which the cake mysteriously disappears?" A satisfied smirk played on her lips.

"Carter!" Jack yelled in frustration, diving for the DVDs. Sam hid them expertly behind her back; she'd had a brother and knew how to play keep-away.

Only hesitating for a second, Jack fingers descended on Sam's stomach. She squealed and wriggled to protect her abdomen.

"Carter? Was that a squeal? I didn't know you squealed," Jack grinned, poking her in the side. Sam yelped. "Nor did I know you were _so_ ticklish."

Sam tried to push him away with her knee, then her foot, but she had dissolved into giggles. It was a pleasant sound to Jack's ears, one he seldom heard.

Jack saw an opportunity and grabbed the DVDs. He rocked back on his heels, giving Sam a moment to catch her breath. "So, Carter, where's this level three training you've got?" he asked, waving his prize above his head.

Sam leaped at Jack, not ready to give up. She grasped the arm with the case, spun her CO around, and trapped his arm behind his back. Victory was hers…or not. Jack escaped her grip, twisting around. Unfortunately for them, their balance was off and they ended up in a pile on the floor.

Jack gazed down at Sam. Her eyes were laughing and a million watt smile graced her face. He knew he must have some kind of goofy grin plastered on his. That's when he realized just how close they were. Things suddenly weren't so funny anymore. Sam's lips parted slightly in surprise. This wasn't supposed to happen; this kind of proximity was off-limits. If you could feel your CO's breath on your cheek and his heart pounding close to yours, you were unquestionably, without a doubt, too close.

Only inches separated them, but it might as well be light-years. They were officers in the USAF and had too much respect for their jobs and themselves to conveniently forget the rules and regulations. The line was drawn, and though they danced along it, they never stepped over. Most of the time it was a comfortable waltz, other times the dance was playful and flirtatious. They even stepped on each other's toes now and then.

"Sir? You win," came Sam's capitulation.

Jack smiled sadly, helping her up. For all the waltzing they did, he hoped that one day they'd have their chance to tango.


End file.
